


Two of Us

by RedOrchid



Series: 2014 headcanon ficlets [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2014, Canon Compliant, Ficlet, Headcanon, LA break, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis is vacationing in St Barths, Harry is getting papped in LA and they are disgustingly domestic over Skype together.</p><p>(part two in the mutually beneficial ficlet-slave series where Z and I write stuff to amuse each other)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarah5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarah5/gifts).



> Disclaimed etc, etc.

Harry is getting ready for dinner out with some of Alexa’s friends when the Skype icon starts buzzing on his mobile. He presses the button to accept and holds the phone in place with his shoulder, washing the last traces of shaving cream off of his face and reaching for a towel to dry his hands.

“Hey, babe. Mind if I ring you back? I think my laptop’s in the other room.”

“No worries,” Louis says at the other end of the line. “Talk to me while you’re looking, though. I’m five seconds from falling asleep, and I need to have some kind of tea before that happens. Figured my brilliant, devoted fiancé wouldn’t mind keeping me awake.”

Harry smiles and moves his mobile to his other ear, starts searching through the mess on his desk with his free hand. “You’re lucky I wasn’t in the shower, then.”

“Mhm,” Louis replies, and Harry can hear how tired he is just from that small sound. “You should tell me about showering. In great detail, please.”

“I thought you were tired?”

“‘M tired,” Louis says with a yawn. “But if you tell me something really dirty, maybe my prick will keep me awake long enough for me to actually eat some food.”

“Well, I was naked,” Harry replies, shifting another pile of random sheet music to see if his computer might be hiding underneath. “All… naked. In the shower.”

“That so?” Louis asks, and Harry can tell he’s smiling. “So just what did all-naked-you get up to then?”

“Honestly, I just washed my hair,” Harry says. “Got the smell of chlorine from the pool off of my skin. Though about tugging one off but didn’t really feel like it in the end.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Louis sighs. “I’ve been trying to entertain myself for the past hour, trying to keep awake. Can’t get into it.”

“Jetlag?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why it’s worse the second day, but it really is. I fell asleep on the beach earlier. Woke up looking like the crab in _The Little Mermaid_.”

“Shit. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Got some aloe on it. There was a fan who came up and wanted a picture, though, so I’ll be sharing my embarrassing red face with the rest of the world.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Harry says. His laptop is nowhere to be found. He looks under the first pile of things he moved one more time and then accepts defeat and goes to lie down on the sofa. “Is it up already?”

“Got her to promise she’d wait a week,” Louis replies. “Linda’s been emailing me about different spins for when I arrive in LA. Figured if this drops at about the same time, I might actually be able to sneak off and not have to do the whole fake-hotel-check-in song and dance before coming home.”

Harry smiles. “That’d be nice.”

“Very, very nice,” Louis agrees. “Tell me about the house again. I want to pretend I’m there already.”

“You’ll be here soon,” Harry says. “It’s just a week, and you’ll have a great holiday once you get some sleep. You’ve been talking about having some quiet time to write, right?”

Louis huffs. “I hate it when you’re reasonable.”

“Well, I hate it when you get all down on yourself for no reason.”

“I hate you more.”

“Not possible.”

“No, I really do,” Louis insists. “Hate you with the fire of a thousand suns, most annoying person I know etcetera etcetera.”

Harry presses the phone a little closer to his ear and closes his eyes, smile widening. “You’re the most horrible person I know.”

“Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t want to be close to you even if it meant saving the life of little fluffy puppies.”

“Harsh. Definitely would never even consider bringing you tea in bed.”

“And I,” Louis says, his voice taking on that special tone that never fails to make Harry’s knees a bit weak, even after all this time, “most definitely, _definitely_ , do not spend my time thinking about marrying you, kissing you in front of the whole world and falling asleep every night having you right there beside me.”

Harry feels his breath hitch slightly, and he can see it all so clearly, the kind of life they’ve been wanting to have for so long, taunting them while they've been thrown hoop after hoop to jump through, lie after lie to add to the ever growing pile. They’ve been hiding for what feels like forever, and there have been moments—several of them—when Harry wasn’t sure they’d make it through. 

But here they are. And while they’re both most certainly more jaded than they were, they’re also more appreciative of the little things they’re able to share—the little ways Louis touches him without thinking, or how Harry’s always the first one he turns to when he’s seen something funny, or annoying, or anything else he wants to share.

Jesus, Harry loves him so fucking much.

He and Louis are both quiet for a while, simply sharing a connection, even if it’s through a satellite and across a continent at the moment. Louis’s breathing is growing heavier, the way it does when he’s slipping closer to sleep, and Harry stretches out more comfortably on the sofa, his own breathing deepening and finding the same easy rhythm.

“Hey, Lou?”

“Mhm?” Louis asks, sounding more than half-asleep now.

“What do you think of sunflowers?”

“Happy,” Louis says, after thinking about it for a while. “They’re pretty too, I guess. I like them.”

“I think they’d look really pretty on a cake.”

“You’d look pretty on a cake,” Louis murmurs. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too,” Harry says softly. “Don’t fall asleep, okay? Your food should be almost there, yeah?”

“Think someone’s at the door now, actually.”

“Good,” Harry replies. “Go have your tea, babe. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Love you,” Louis says. “Have fun tonight.”

“I will. Love you too.”

“Bye, love.”

Harry keeps his phone by his ear until the call disconnects, then sighs and gets off the sofa to start looking for his shoes. If he’s lucky, there’ll be both paps and fans out tonight, meaning more exposure of him doing the same old thing of walking in and out of restaurants. He’s already noticing a decline in how many cameras tend to be around; another week of street shots and posed candids and he should be good for a break while the paps go hunting for more interesting (and profitable) prey.

There’s a small restaurant not fifteen minutes away from his and Louis’s new house, and Harry’s got a table booked for two on the night when Louis arrives. He even has a film picked out for after, though knowing them, they’ll probably end up missing most of it.

One more week, and then Louis will be coming home—to Harry and their new house with its lovely garden and complete privacy, where they have entire rooms to decide on what to do with, and a brand new bed to test the limits of besides.

Harry smiles and grabs a set of keys from a bowl by the door. It’s the one he’s made for Louis, with a tiny football on the keychain instead of the turtle Harry picked for himself. He slides the keys into his pocket and opens the door.

Time to smile for the cameras.


End file.
